Blood Ties (6 page)

The book was super-sized – two inches thick and took up a quarter of the desktop. I slid into the metal chair and dumped my blue, now soaked to a midnight black, backpack on the floor. I shoved my hands under the desk.

“Since it’s early in the semester, I don’t have much for you to do. But I think this is a bit more interesting than photocopying.” He quirked an eyebrow and gave me a broad smile, flashing a set of brilliant white teeth.

Whuh. No wonder half his students were madly in love with him.

“Once you’re finished with this, there are a few books in the library I’d like you to review on the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. I’ve called ahead. They’ll be waiting for you at the front counter.”

“Sure, no problem,” I replied. I stared down at the book on Raphael, curling and uncurling my fingers on my wet jeans, hoping a little activity would stop their shaking and wishing the book would open by itself.

He waited for a moment then motioned towards
it. “May I?” he asked.

I nodded and he sat on the edge of my desk. He pulled it towards him and opened up a page.
“This is one of my favorites.”

He leaned in close and I stole a peek sideways. He combed his fingers through those dark silken waves to brush it back over one shoulder. His pale skin was perfect, almost as if it were air brushed. His soft brown eyes gazed down at the book. His lashes were long, a thick lace of black. I inhaled a deep breath of his cologne. It was indescribable, masculine, and made you want to roll in it naked. I took another breath and closed my eyes.

I felt a quick brush of air. In one abrupt movement he had stood. He went to his desk, opened a drawer and pulled out an envelope. “I have a few things to attend to, so I will leave you now.” He turned back to me, his eyes averted, his face cold, distant. “I will see you then, again on next Wednesday?” He handed me the envelope. He didn’t look up. “Here are your keys, please lock up when you leave.”

The door closed behind him. A quiet click and he was gone.

I stared at the closed door for several moments. Well that was just – weird. My tension drained away. Someone above was merciful. I turned back to the book and began to leaf through the glossy photographs and too much text. Bored after an hour I pulled out my laptop and played on Facebook. My status today was “Raphaeled and lovin’ it.” I snickered.

Students began to file in. After a half hour I thought my voice would give out. I explained that no, he wasn’t in, and no, I didn’t know when he would be back. There were a lot of unhappy students wishing they’d known about the job posting.

The parade dwindled a few minutes before the end of office hours and I began to pack up my things. The door opened and a man poked his head in, bracing his hand on the doorknob. He had that “aged-sports-jock” look to him; tanned, grey thinning hair with a bit of a gut. His rumpled brown suit hung awkwardly on him as if he’d slept in it. Seeing me, he smiled pleasantly and walked in, extending his hand. “Ah, you must be Miss Aldridge. I’m Dr. Hanson. I hear you’ve joined our team today. Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking a few steps towards him, shaking his hand. “I’m looking forward to working with Dr. Marcheon.” He gave me a teasing grin. It was obvious. He thought I was peeing my pants having the chance to work with the campus crush.

“Well then, where has our Michael run off to?”

The walls suddenly squeezed in around me.
The blood rushed in my ears. I could see him speaking but no words came out. He pushed me into my chair and rushed to the phone on Dr. Marcheon’s desk. He lifted the receiver. I thought quickly.

“No wait … I’m … fine,” I gasped out. “Just dizzy from … missing breakfast and lunch. I’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

He hesitated then put the receiver down. “Your color’s not good, are you sure you don’t want me to call someone?”

“No, really, I’m fine. Just low on fuel.” I thought about putting my head between my legs but didn’t want him to think it was bad enough to have medics run in.

“Well, I still think you should go to the Student Health Center. It’s only a couple of buildings over.”

“Okay
, sure, I’ll do that.” I did my best to put on a convincing face. I hated lying and wasn’t good at it. When it didn’t work, I raised my eyebrows and smiled. I hoped it didn’t look as if I were trying to get rid of him. On the other hand, I didn’t much care what he thought. I just wanted him gone.

He hovered over me for a few moments then shoved his hands in his wrinkled pockets and cleared his throat. “Well, when you see Michael,
please let him know I stopped by.”

There was that name again. The floor shifted under my chair. “Sure, I’ll just leave him a note,” I murmured as I searched for a sticky pad and pen in my drawer. He hesitated, then with another concerned look he left, closing the door behind him.

My unrelenting dream rushed back to hit me full force.
“Why, it must be my Michel, my only love …”
Michael? Michel? There was no way he was the same person. Besides, my dreams were of another place and time. I shook my head. No, my mind had made him look like Michel, tall, long dark hair, brown eyes triggering a subconscious need. Michel’s hair was a little lighter and didn’t reflect a silver sheen. There was a slight bump on his nose from where it’d been broken in a fight. Dr. Marcheon’s was perfect, almost too perfect. I couldn’t see a mark on him. But still, what were the odds? In either case, Michael was a common enough name. I shook my head again. No, there had to be a logical explanation for all of this.

***

There was a note on my door when I got home. It was from Jennifer, asking me to stop by. I dropped my backpack inside my door. It landed with a loud thud, full of the library books Dr. Marcheon had ask me to pick up. I rubbed my shoulder. Those suckers were heavy. Next time I’d pipe up about downloading them to my iPad. I stepped to her door and banged on it a couple of times with my fist. The sound of Smashing Pumpkins died down and the dead bolt slid back.

“You don’t look good,” she said.

“I’m fine.” I plopped down on her couch and threw my feet up on her coffee table. Invisible dust mites danced in the air and I sneezed. I pulled out a crumpled piece of tissue and wiped at my nose, then shoved it back in my pocket.

A large mug of coffee, heavy
on cream appeared in my hands.

I sipped on it and stared into its dark depths for several moments then sighed. Coffee can only be so distracting. Jen sat on the edge of the chair across from me, watching, waiting for me to spill it.

“Did you know his first name is Michael?”

“No
. So how did it go?”

I gave a small shrug, keeping a careful hold on the cup in my hand. “Fine.”

“Just fine?” She raised an eyebrow and quirked up an edge of her mouth.

“Yeah, he was very polite. He asked me to do some reading for some research he’s doing.” I combed through my hair with my fingers, pulling out a few
loose strands and dropped them to the floor to join the other mysteries embedded into the ratty carpet.

“Everyone I’ve talked to is just green with envy. Addie’s planning to hit you up for an inside scoop.”

I groaned. “I have nothing of any interest to pass along.” I rolled my head towards her. “But he is a little intimidating, and ...”

“Fascinating?”

“Yes, you caught me there. He is that.”

She sat back in her chair with a big grin on her face. I pretended I didn’t see it.

I slid further into the couch and hung my soaked tennis shoes off the edge of the beat-up coffee table, bumping them together rhythmically. Wet shoes were nasty, like wet dogs. I pushed them off with a toe. My wet bobby socks were next. The concentration it required was pleasantly entertaining.

“So
, what’s up?”

“Just wanted to see if you needed a break, thought it would be nice to check out Cape Breton and do a little shopping.”

I inwardly groaned. It was one of my least favorite activities. It wasn’t as if I’d had any bad experiences, except for the “have-to-come-home-with-me” shoes I’d bought in 8th grade that were too small. They hadn’t lasted long. They ran away to Goodwill one Thursday without even one parting glance. They’d left behind a gift. A crop full of blisters.

I quickly answered in an upbeat voice. “Absolutely. It sounds like fun. Just let me go and change.” Shocker there.

***

We took off in her lime green Volkswagen Beetle, her baby. It had been in the family a long time, a fondly held and coveted hand-me-down. The drive was pleasant if you ignored the fumes coming up from under the rusted
out floorboards. I wondered what she was going to do in the winter. Keeping the windows rolled down in forty degrees below zero would be a tad uncomfortable.

The island was beautiful with quaint villages peppered along the way. We stopped several times and I picked up some handmade sweaters and sheepskin lined boots. Jen
bought a slew of junk to send home – shot glasses with the words “Nova Scotia” printed on them, a few snow globes with the Titanic, complete with a giant iceberg. I’d seen the movie, and never again. There’s nothing like a dead baby floating in water to get you out of your seat. After some additional sightseeing and dinner at a local pub, we headed back, hoping to get back to St. Germaine before dark.

A few miles from town, Jen’s baby
began to sputter and jerk randomly. “Shit. I knew that service guy was a rip-off.” She turned to me, pissed. “I just had this in the shop three weeks ago. They charged me a fortune, apparently for nothing.”

The car finally rumbled
to a slow death and we coasted to a stop.

“Great, just great,
” she groaned. She turned on her hazard lights and smacked her hands on the steering wheel. She pulled everything out of her purse, her giant hoop earrings banging back and forth angrily against her neck. “Double great, I must have left my cell at home. Please tell me you brought yours?”

“Sorry.”

She rolled her eyes then jacked open the door, jumped out and slammed it shut with a loud bang. The car shuddered.

We pushed it off the r
oad and leaned against the hood. “What’s the probability that a car will drive by?” I asked delicately, worried it might send her off in a rage and start punching the hood with her fists.

“Not likely, I haven’t seen a single one since we started back.” She folded her arms over her chest and glared at the highway, one eyebrow doing short, excited little jumps. She chewed on her bottom lip and ground her heel into the gravel. The cicadas started their twilight buzz.

“Well, what is it, six miles or so?” She ignored me and stared down the stretch of highway, one eyebrow twitching. “It shouldn’t take me long. I’m used to a four mile run.”

Her frustration deflated with a drop of her shoulders. “You sure?” She gave me a guilty look, but not guilty enough to pass on my offer and come along.

“Yep, no problem. Stay put and I’ll be back in no time.” I looked down at my heeled sandals. Well, they would have to do. I wasn’t about to take them off and risk cutting up my feet.

“Don’t worry about coming back to pick me up, just send a tow truck. I want to keep an eye on my heap. The last thing I need is a damaged frame.” I turned away and held back a laugh. I didn’t think a damaged frame would really matter with the shape it was in. I was amazed it had made it all the way from Chicago.

I took off briskly. I turned around after a quarter mile, walking backwards. She was still leaned up against the car, watching me go. I waved then turned my attention back to the road. I walked in silence with only the buzz of cicadas for company. One mile, two miles, I counted – only three more to go.

A sleek black Mercedes with tinted windows whipped around a sharp bend in the road headed towards me. Startled, I stumbled on a piece of gravel and almost lost my balance. It slowed, then swung around and pulled up. I tensed and prepared for a quick sprint into the ditch.

The window rolled down. I groaned. He leaned across the passenger seat. “Miss Aldridge, I didn’t realize you were so agile in heals.” Dr. Marcheon grinned.

I gave him a glare and quipped back, “Occasionally, on a good day, I’m actually able to walk upright in them.” I turned and began to walk, irritated. It was easier than standing there and dying from embarrassment.

His car kept pace with me. He chuckled softly, low in this throat. It sent a shiver down my back. “Well, perhaps I can give you a lift into town, seeing that this is not one of those days?”

I scowled, further annoyed at his amusement. “A friend and I were coming back from the Cape and our car broke down a few miles back.
I was going into town to get help.”

He flashed a brilliant smile. “I’m happy to assist.” He drove ahead and leaned across the seat, opening the car door so it blocked my way. I stood there awkwardly. “Please let me help. It’s not the safest thing for you to be walking into town alone.”

Well, maybe he was right. It probably wasn’t a good idea to be out on a deserted highway, a lone female, just begging for a kidnapping. Resigned, I got in and he pulled out his cell. He had a conversation with someone on the other side of the phone, all the while keeping a careful watch on me as if he thought I might jump out.